drowning
by TheShippingPrincess
Summary: In which Annie Cresta—Odair?—suffers from the death of her beloved. / odesta / one-shot


She's carefully folding her sheets when he calls her name.

"Annie?"

She glances up, and the guilty look in his eyes says all she needs to know.

"When?" she mumbles.

"A week." He takes deep strides to reach her, then pulls her close against his chest. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

She shuts her eyes, trying to keep the negative thoughts at bay. "How long will you be gone?"

"Just a few weeks, at most."

"Come home to me, Finnick. Please."

"I will." His arms tighten around her. "I swear to you, I will."

She takes a deep breath, and inside her she can feel it stirring. The baby. Should she tell him? She could, but then she knows for sure he would stay with her, and what then? He could be key to this mission—if she made him stay, it could lead to the downfall of everything they stand for.

So, no. She won't tell him; _can't_ tell him. Not yet.

"Come home," she whispers instead. He presses a light kiss to her forehead in response. "Just come home."

* * *

The week goes by quickly, and before long, she's standing next to a large hovercraft, running her fingers through his bronze hair in a goodbye.

"I love you," she whispers, her voice low and breathy.

"I love you more," he responds, gripping her right hand and pressing a kiss to its palm.

"Impossible," she says quietly, a nervous grin plastered on her face. She can't seem to shake the feeling of dread that coats her lungs, her heart, her mind.

The baby lurches in her stomach.

He pulls her in for a final kiss before Boggs taps him on the shoulder. "We should get going now," the man says.

Finnick gives her a winning smile, and then he's gone.

Annie finds herself staring at the deep blue sky long after the hovercraft disappears. _Come home_.

* * *

She spends her days sitting on her bed, listening to music.

It was Beetee's idea: drown out the voices in her head with voices in song. Annie has to admit it's working somewhat—at least it distracts her from Finnick and his mission, and the news that constantly changes.

"He's dead," informs a reporter.

"He's missing," replies a rebel.

"He's gone," whisper the voices.

Annie doesn't care; all she wants to know is the truth. Each day brings on a spell of dizziness and aching, both in her heart and her abdomen.

She just wants him back.

* * *

Annie wakes up at three in the morning to a lone figure sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Gah!" she screams, throwing the first thing her hands find—a blue hairbrush—and misses. Her aim never was very good.

"Annie!" cries out a familiar voice in shock, and Annie pauses as the thoughts flood through her sleep-riddled mind.

"Johanna," comes the words along with the realization.

She sits up, retrieving the brush and lightly touching her friend's shoulder apologetically.

"What is it?" she whispers, her voice catching in her throat. Something must be very wrong for Johanna to be here, in her room, at this hour.

"They said they wanted to tell you, but I had to do it. I couldn't let them make it any worse.

"Tell me what?" Annie whispers, her voice shaking. "What did you want to tell me?"

"Annie, Finn—Finnick didn't make it. There were these mutts and—" The sudden roar in Annie's head is loud and painful. Her hands automatically go up to cover her ears.

Somehow, a few of Johanna's words reach her—just barely.

 _Mutts._ _Lizards. Attacked._

A loud, shrill sound breaks past the roaring in Annie's head. It takes a few seconds to realize the scream is coming from her own throat.

 _Dead. Explosion. Flesh._

She's vaguely aware of people in white surrounding her, injecting her with a liquid that makes her dizzier than she usually is.

 _Blood. Decapitated. Head. Finnick. Gone._

He's gone and he took what was left of her sanity with him. At some point, her throat closes and her screams stop and her vision fades to black, but even then she dreams of Finnick, his beautiful head, devoid of his body, bobbing in water the same color as his eyes.

* * *

She doesn't know how long she stays asleep, but when she wakes, she finds herself in a white bed, her pregnant stomach already prominent through the thin hospital gown she's wearing, although it can easily be mistaken for weight gain.

She stares at her surroundings momentarily before she remembers everything.

 _Dead. Gone. Decapitated. Kill them. Kill them all now._

She shuts her eyes against the voices and immediately the sound of rushing water fills her head. Her eyes snap open but there's nothing, it's nothing, calm down.

Still, she can't help but sense the feeling of her lungs filling with water, of a lack of oxygen, of drowning.

She needs him so badly it hurts.

* * *

She falls asleep somehow—she doesn't know how—but it isn't an escape.

In her dreams—nightmares, really—she is back in the arena. She and Bay are running, fast. They have just caught a glimpse of a Career from Two—who saw them as well—and need to get as far away as possible.

Suddenly, Annie trips. On her feet, on a rock, on a stick—it doesn't matter, because it's enough for the Career to catch up. His dark lips lift into a smirk, and his arm raises, ready to slash her to death with the sharp sword encased in his fist.

Annie lifts her arms to shield her face, but the attack doesn't come. She moves her arms just in time to see the Career sever Bay's head. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out; instead she watches his head, barely recognizable from the blood that already coats it—it covers his deep blue eyes and his sandy blond hair and the bright smile that guided her through this mess of a Games—roll down the hill they stand on.

She stands abruptly and sprints in the opposite direction of Bay and the Career, the tip of the latter's sword just barely brushing her dark brown locks. She's running quickly, her feet pounding on the soft floor of the jungle, tears flowing down her face. He's gone, gone, gone.

And then the floor breaks open and Annie's falling through a dark hole, and then she can see him.

Finnick, her beautiful Finnick, fighting what looks like giant white lizards. He attacks one with his trident, then another, then ducks under a third.

She's so proud of him she actually smiles, despite the madness that is her nightmare and the horrific memory she has just witnessed for what feels like the millionth time. _You can do it, love. I believe in you._

And then it happens.

A single lizard creeps up behind Finnick, its black tongue flitting in and out of what can only be its mouth. Annie's own mouth opens to do something, anything—scream, maybe, or call for help—but no sound escapes, again. Instead, she watches as the lizard grabs a hold of Finnick, and he tries to fight back. But it's pointless, because another lizard has jumped in front of him and suddenly it bites his head clean off.

She barely has time to understand what has just happened because all at once Annie can hear the explosion, can see the white and the bronze and the tan erupt into a billion infinitesimal nothings, can taste the blood on her lips.

And then she wakes up.

* * *

She almost ends it all.

It would be so easy to just overdose on the miniscule blue pills they give her each day, but the one obvious thing stops her.

Their baby.

It's the only thing keeping her going. She could care less if she died, but her child is an entirely different matter. Besides, Finnick would kill her if she let anything happen to him.

Or her. She's not far along enough to know.

The hours bleed into days, days into weeks, and before long an entire month has passed since Finnick's death. Annie doesn't know how she's still alive. The first three weeks she simply stayed in her hospital room, sobbing and calling his name. Eventually, she left, wandering around in her hospital gown.

She encounters Katniss on one of these trips, both of them too exhausted to notice the other. When they literally bump into each other, Katniss' eyes widen.

"Annie," she whispers, tears materializing in her eyes. "Annie, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was all my fault."

Annie simply stands there numbly, watching the girl on fire dissolve into a mess of tears and snot and pain.

Katniss grips onto the thin white dress Annie has been wearing for weeks. "Please forgive me," she mumbles shakily. Annie can recognize the signs of intense drugs—a sight so familiar from the first few weeks after Finnick's death.

Annie studies Katniss: the way her face seems almost melted; the shortened length of her hair; the soft pink shade of her skin. Almost like she'd been cooked alive.

"What did you do?"

Her voice is barely above a whisper, but the ears of a hunter can hear it almost perfectly.

"Annie, I'm so sorry. I had to do it, so they wouldn't take him, or torture him. So he wouldn't suffer."

Annie collapses, falling onto her knees, and Katniss follows shortly after, shaky hands still holding onto Annie's dress.

They sob together for what feels like years. No one passes by, miraculously; it's just the two of them, enveloped in their pain.

"It was my fault," Annie whispers after they both stop sniffling.

Katniss head snaps up, her intense gaze on Annie's sharp green eyes. "No, Annie—"

"Listen to me, Katniss," Annie interrupts in her quiet voice. "It was my fault. Bay, Finnick, both of them died because of me."

"Annie—"

"The only reason Bay volunteered was so that he could save me."

"Why would—"

"He was my cousin."

The revelation visibly knocks the breath out of Katniss. Annie eyes her, saying nothing. "Annie…"

"I know." Her eyes flutter up to the ceiling. "We looked nothing alike, and the Capitol never bothered asking whether or not we were related."

"Finnick's death wasn't your fault, though, Annie; it was mine—"

Annie's eyes drift back down. "Katniss… I'm pregnant."

Katniss lets out a sound akin to a strangled animal cry. "No, Annie, no. That's not true."

When Annie says nothing, Katniss simply releases Annie's dress and brings her open palms to her own lips. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, dissolving into another set of tears.

"I should have told him," Annie whispers. "He would have stayed with me. I know he would've."

No other words are exchanged between the two, both of them simply sitting there, weeping until a guard discovers the two and takes them back to their rooms.

* * *

Annie finds herself on her bed, reliving the moments after her Games.

Finnick was waiting outside her hospital room, and the second she stepped out he enveloped her in a warm embrace. "I'm so sorry, Annie," he mumbled, pressing his lips to the top of her long hair.

She said nothing, her gaze on a wall behind him, and he held her in his arms until Mags and Koruma, the escort of District 4, appeared to take them back home. Koruma cleared her throat at the sight of Annie and Finnick's hug, clearly jealous of their close proximity. Her blueish-green hair bounced with every step she took on her water-filled heels. Annie took in her sharp nose and commandeering blue eyes—not a deep blue like the ocean she loved so, but pale like the soft whispers of frost she sees on the television screen when the dreaded Victory Tour rolls around.

Annie took a step back from Koruma—and Finnick.

He glanced at her in confusion before smiling at Mags. "She did it."

Mags eyed Annie, noting the distinct change in her features, and grumbled unintelligibly.

"What was that, Mags? Really, you should learn to speak better. You're a Victor, not a fish," Koruma said in her Capitol accent, tone bright.

Mags grunted.

Finnick's fists clenched and unclenched in anger, ready to punch the Capitol citizen, but a warm hand on his shoulder stopped him. "Don't."

Her voice had shrunk, making her quieter than before the Games. His fists relaxed, yet he glanced at her sadly. No one ever really wins the Games, do they?

Mags and Koruma led the way to Lana, Annie's stylist, while Finnick wrapped his arm around her comfortingly. She breathed in his warmth, his comforting murmurs, his scent. Slowly, the roaring in her head ( _Bay is gone; it's all your fault—_ ) slowed to a mere buzz. It won't ever go away, though; she understands that now, understood it then. It will never go away.

She just wants it gone.

* * *

Lana was a miracle.

Annie understands that now, because despite all those years of watching the Games, she didn't realize—didn't understand—that not everyone was as wonderful as Lana. Cinna was, perhaps—she can hear Katniss in her room, whispering the names of all those that died—but Lana was hers.

They killed her, too.

Annie still remembers seeing Lana in the Capitol after the Quarter Quell, still remembers her eyes revealing pain and madness that Annie only ever associated with herself.

"Lana," she had whispered, forgetting the guards and running to her stylist. "Lana, what happened to you?"

Lana stared at her blankly then, her green eyes registering no emotion. Annie remembers taking her in, eyeing her lifeless yellow hair and pale skin, so different from the golden-haired beauty who made Annie beautiful too.

Then the moment passed, and the guards pulled her roughly away. She remembers turning around in time to see another guard lift his gun. She remembers watching as he shoots Lana in the head, remembers crumpling to her knees, remembers watching Lana's body fold in on itself.

And then she was gone, too.

* * *

The pain is excruciating.

Annie's screams echo around the bright room. Her forehead is caked with sweat, her body feeling weak. "Push," she hears a doctor urge beside her. "You can do it."

"I—I can't—" She can feel the baby in her abdomen. Her dizziness is the worst it's ever been—is her head cracking open along with her body?—and even that is nothing compared to the splitting feeling between her legs.

She lets out a roar of pain as another contraction seizes her. "Come on, Annie," says another doctor. "You have to push!"

She pushes, and red explodes underneath her eyelids. She's can't hold on much longer—

"He's out!"

Annie collapses in the bed, feeling empty. A doctor settled between her legs grasps a small, slimy thing in his hands. She watches as a nurse picks up her baby and cleans it, putting it in a soft, white towel.

And then she walks over to Annie.

The nurse carefully places the baby in Annie's arms, and Annie lets out a stifled gasp. "Beautiful," she whispers breathily, tracing the baby's cheek with her knuckle.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Odair. You've given birth to a healthy boy. Do you have a name in mind?"

Annie barely registers the words, but a memory comes to her with a pang.

 _"Let's have a baby, Annie!" Finnick cries, twirling her in his arms._

 _"Finnick," she answers, "you're joking."_

 _"Maybe," he mutters, "but don't you want to see a gorgeous baby Finnick running around the house?"_

 _She laughs, hitting him on the shoulder. "We're not even married!"_

 _Finnick grins at her. "Fine. But one day, when we have a baby boy, I want you to name him Dylan."_

 _"Dylan," she whispers. "Son of the sea." No name has ever felt so perfect._

"Dylan," she says now. "His name is Dylan."

* * *

She watches him grow up with more than a little fear.

It's so _hard_ without Finnick there to guide her, but Annie tries. Johanna comes over at times to help out, but otherwise the girl stays in District 7. Annie resides in 4 with Dylan. Raising a child by herself—especially with the madness she has—is incredibly difficult, but Annie survives and Dylan is loved.

There are moments when Annie has to stop, has to leave the room, because her madness is catching up with her and she can't breathe right. She tries hard not to let Dylan see it—she can't traumatize him with her problems just yet—but nearly ten years after Finnick's death, she breaks down in front of her baby.

"Mama?" he whispers, walking up to her tentatively. She's crumpled on the floor, heaving sobs racking her body. "Mama, what's wrong?"

She says nothing, simply opening her arms. Right now, she's the one who needs a parent. Dylan slides into her lap, his small arms wrapping around her tightly. "I love you, Mama."

 _"I love you, Annie."_

"My sweet, sweet boy," she mumbles, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, her hands tangling themselves in his brown hair. It was the one thing he got from her, she reflects. Everything else is Finnick, from the curve of his lip to the arching eyebrows.

"What's wrong, Mama?" he asks again after a few minutes.

"Nothing," she whispers. "Nothing is wrong."

One day, she'll have to let him go, too. One day, she'll have to tell him the truth about her and his father. But not yet.

Right now, he's the only thing keeping her from drowning.


End file.
